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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24789871">Imagine Yourself In A Building - Up In Flames Being Told To Stand Still</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilies_in_a_vase/pseuds/lilies_in_a_vase'>lilies_in_a_vase</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Looking For A Safe Place To Land [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stranger Things (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AIDS - referenced, Alexei Lives (Stranger Things), Alexei and Murray are the Queer Uncles everyone deserves, Alexei deserved a friend, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Awesome Robin Buckley, Billy Hargrove &amp; Eleven | Jane Hopper Friendship, Billy Hargrove &amp; Maxine "Max" Mayfield Have a Good Relationship, Billy Hargrove Is Bad at Feelings, Billy Hargrove Lives, Billy Hargrove Needs Love, Billy Hargrove Needs a Hug, Billy Hargrove Redemption, Billy Hargrove Tries to Be a Better Person, Bisexual Steve Harrington, F/M, Gay Billy Hargrove, Gen, Good Friend Robin Buckley, Good Sibling Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Hospital, Hurt Billy Hargrove, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inspired by Flowers, Lesbian Robin Buckley, M/M, Minor Eleven | Jane Hopper/Mike Wheeler, Neil Hargrove Being an Asshole, Neil Hargrove is His Own Warning, Neil Hargrove's A+ Parenting, POV Billy Hargrove, Past Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler, Period-Typical Homophobia, Protective Eleven | Jane Hopper, Protective Maxine “Max” Mayfield, Protective Steve Harrington, Recovery, Robin Buckley &amp; Steve Harrington Friendship, Shared Trauma, She’s Russian, Soft Billy Hargrove, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, The Author gave Dr. Owens a daughter, Vignettes???, Worried Maxine “Max” Mayfield, no beta we die like men, post-mindflayer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:14:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,123</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24789871</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilies_in_a_vase/pseuds/lilies_in_a_vase</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There are new, fresh flowers on his bedside table every week Billy stays in the hospital. Of course, Billy doesn’t notice this the first time he wakes up, because he can’t breathe. He can’t move, and he can’t really see, but those two kind of fall behind the fact that he can’t fucking breathe.</p><p>—</p><p>Featuring: </p><p>Steve brings Billy flowers.<br/>It takes a while to recover from almost being killed by an inter dimensional monster.<br/>Hawkins’ Upside Down Team take turns visiting Billy; told through the symbolism of flowers.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alexei/Murray Bauman, Billy Hargrove &amp; Dr. Owens, Billy Hargrove &amp; Jim "Chief" Hopper, Billy Hargrove &amp; Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Billy Hargrove &amp; Murray Bauman &amp; Alexei, Billy Hargrove &amp; Nancy Wheeler, Billy Hargrove &amp; Neil Hargrove, Billy Hargrove &amp; The Party, Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Eleven | Jane Hopper &amp; Billy Hargrove, Joyce Byers/Jim "Chief" Hopper, Robin Buckley &amp; Billy Hargrove</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Looking For A Safe Place To Land [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1637785</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>270</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Imagine Yourself In A Building - Up In Flames Being Told To Stand Still</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey everyone! Here’s the next part! I kind of tried a new thing with this one, but I’m pretty satisfied with how it turned out, so I hope you agree! </p><p> </p><p>Right, so I don’t own Stranger Things, and the title is from “A Safe Place To Land” by Sara Bareilles and John Legend.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em><span class="s1">— Violets: loyalty, devotion, faithfulness </span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">4-13 July 1985</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">There are new, fresh flowers on his bedside table every week Billy stays in the hospital. Of course, Billy doesn’t notice this the first time he wakes up, because he can’t breathe. He can’t move, and he can’t really see, but those two kind of fall behind the fact that </span> <em> <span class="s1">he can’t fucking breathe</span> <span class="s2">. </span> </em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Then there’s a woman there, he can feel her right by his head, can tell she’s got a hand on his upper arm. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">”Hey, hey, Billy, breathe. You’re going to be okay. Just breathe. Breathe.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Billy kind of wants to tell her that </span> <em> <span class="s1">no, he can’t breathe, goddamnit</span> </em> <span class="s2">, because if he could he’d already be doing it, but to be able to speak he needs to be able to breathe, and, well. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Breathe, Billy.” She’s pressing something into his face, over his mouth and nose, and suddenly his lungs are filling up with oxygen. “Just like that, Billy, just like that. Just keep breathing.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">But now that he can breathe, he can also feel. It isn’t a slow, gentle process; at first Billy can’t feel anything because he can’t breathe, and then suddenly he can feel </span> <em> <span class="s1">everything</span> </em> <span class="s2">. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">And it feels like his whole body is on fire. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">The woman’s moved away, but he can tell she’s still there. And she’s not alone. They’re speaking, but fuck if Billy can keep up with what they’re saying. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>“...How... awake?! Shouldn’t be...”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">He’s pretty sure he can feel his heart pumping out his blood with every beat it makes. And shit if it isn’t beating quickly. It’s like he’s got a hummingbird trapped behind his ribcage. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">“-ick! Hurry! He’s losing...”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Billy’s pretty certain the beeping he’s hearing is actually happening and not something in his head. God, he wishes they’d turn it the fuck off. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">“We can’t let him... I promised-“</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">“Yes, dad, I know... I’m going to help him...”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Shit, his body </span> <em> <span class="s1">hurts</span> </em> <span class="s2">. And they’re touching it, and they’re moving it and they’re putting something on him, <em>in him</em>, and Billy wants to scream but he can’t figure out how to control his voice.</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">“-body! Hand me the-“ </span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">The last thing Billy thinks before everything falls away is that his dad must really have managed to fuck him up this time. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">— </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Billy spends that first week barely awake. To say that he ever actually wakes up would probably be wrong. It’s more that he gains consciousness, partly, every once in a while.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He thinks he hears Steve, having a shouting match with someone. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">“You can’t make me leave! You can’t! You’ll have to drag me out of here and I’ll scream the whole goddamn way. I’m not leaving him. I fucking refuse to. I’ll sleep right there in that bed, and if something happens I’ll be here and I’ll get someone to help him. And there could be after effects of the drugs. You don’t fucking know! There’a no one at home to miss me, no parents you have to reassure. And if there’s something wrong, then you have enough time to call back Robin!”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Steve must have won that argument, because Billy manages to open his eyes one night to see purple flowers in a vase by his bedside table, and in a hospital bed right next to his he can just make out a head of ridiculous, amazing brown hair. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’s another day, when some of his hearing connects to the real world. It’s Steve again, and... the Chief of Police? </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">“Steve. Go home.” </span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">“No! I’m not leav-“ </span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">“You look like a wreck. Steve, you look like as though he actually died. He didn’t. They say he’ll be okay. Go home. Sleep in your own bed.” </span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">“Hopper, no, I can’t, I- Every time I close my eyes I see him, bleeding out in my arms. But then I can just look over, and I’ll see him, and I’ll hear the heart monitor, and I’ll know that he’s there. I can’t deal with- with waking up in that big empty fucking house.” </span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">“Then come home with me. Or Joyce. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. Hell, ask that friend of yours, Robin, ask her if she’ll sleep over at your house. Just... You need a shower, Harrington. And you’re no help to him once he wakes up if you’re not... if you don’t make sure to help yourself first.” </span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">— White Jasmine: sweet love </span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">14-20 July 1985</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy’s better. He has more moments of lucidity, at least. He’s not awake yet, not fully. But he feels more... aware.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’s someone crying close by. He thinks it’s Max, because it sounds like her voice even if he hasn’t heard her crying particularly often, but also because there aren’t any other girls he’d image who would actually come and cry in his hospital room. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They wouldn’t let me come until now. Told me I had to wait. But I had Steve keep me updated. He told me everything that happened, so I knew Billy. And I know I told you that you could sleep, but shit, it’s been a week. Wake up. Please, Billy. Please wake up.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And fuck, he wants to wake up then. Just to stop Max from sounding so goddamn sad and desperate. He can’t even in remember why he’s here, but it must have been something bad. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But then Max is gone, and he can hear steps getting closer, a chair being pulled. Someone reaching out to hold his hand. He can’t really feel his palm, but the other person laces their fingers together. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Hi, love. I brought you new flowers. White Jasmine. I- They kind of look like stars. I hope you like them.” It’s Steve. He’s back. Billy... Billy was a little worried. “But hey... Max was here to see you. She’s been worried. We want you to wake up, Billy. We just want you to wake up, Billy. Come on, Sleeping Beauty. A kiss woke the Sleeping Beauty, isn’t that how it goes? I can’t get to your lips, but maybe...” He can feel Steve life his hand up, bring it up to his lips and kiss his knuckles. And Billy tries to open his eyes, but he can’t. For some </span> <em> <span class="s2">fucking</span> </em> <span class="s1"> reason, he can’t. Steve brings his hand back down with a sigh. “I should probably tell you that they didn’t have to shave your hair off, in case you were worried.” Billy hears him let out a softlittle laugh. “Maybe Rapunzel is more accurate, huh? I’m going to go and get fresh water for the flowers. I’ll be back in a minute.”</span></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He falls back asleep right after that; doesn’t get to hear Steve come back. The next time he ‘awakens’ he’s not really sure if he’s awake or not. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’s a woman there, with a hand stroking his hair. She’s singing, softly. Billy can’t make out the words, but they’re comforting, nonetheless. It reminds him of what his mum would do, back when he was really little and had a nightmare. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But Billy knows it’s not her. Because she’s not here, she left him, and she doesn’t know anything about him anymore. He doubts she’d recognise the boy he was if she met him now. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He wants to open his eyes and see who it is, but he still can’t do it, and part of him feels thankful for it. Because if he were to open his eyes, then maybe she’d disappear. Maybe this is all a dream, and if it is, it is by far one of the nicest dreams Billy’s had. He doesn’t want her to stop singing. And so he stops trying, and just listens and sleeps. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Billy comes back to it again, it’s to Chief Hopper standing by the foot of his bed. At least, that is where his voice is coming from. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“... so, yeah, kid. Thank you. Thank you for saving her.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><em> <span class="s2">Saving who?</span> </em> <span class="s1"> Billy wants to ask. </span> <em> <span class="s2">Max?</span> </em> <span class="s1"> He thought he was here because of Neil, but Neil wouldn’t dare to touch Max, wouldn’t want or need to, not while Billy was still there. </span> <em> <span class="s2">So who? Who did he save? Who, who, who...?!</span> </em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shit, kid! Fuck. Nurse! We need some help in here!” And Hopper’s steps fade away, and Billy gives in to the darkness looming around him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">— Daffodil: new beginnings </span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">21-27 July 1985</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy opens his eyes again on a Thursday afternoon in late July.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’s a nurse in his room, closing a window. When she turns around and sees Billy watching her, she jumps a little, and hurries out of the room. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Once she’s gone Billy lets his eyes wander.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The room they’ve put him in is pretty big, it has to be because there is one other bed other than Billy’s in it. But the other one is empty, and it doesn’t look like it’s been occupied in a while. Billy’s bed looks... too occupied. There are way more machines around him, hooked up to him, then he’s comfortable with. And there’s a nasal cannula in his nose. The blanket’s been pulled down to rest halfway up his chest, and he can see bandages sticking out from underneath his hospital gown. He lifts a trembling hand up to touch, and sees his palms are both heavily bandaged. Probably why he couldn’t feel Steve’s hand. There’s a chair pulled up on his right side, turned on it’s side as though someone just left. And the smell of disinfectant is strong, despite the window having been opened. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He doesn’t get to look around more than that before the door opens and a young woman with an older man in tow walk in. They’re both dressed like doctors, in scrubs and lab coats. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">The man looks like what Billy might imagine a kind children’s doctor would look like. He’s a little round, with grey hair and a kind face. The woman seems to be in her thirties. She’s tall, with black hair in a pixie cut, and beautiful. The type of old Hollywood beauty you see in vintage movies. Like Audrey Hepburn. Or Marilyn Monroe. </span> <span class="s2"><em>‘Goodbye Norma Jeane’</em> </span> <span class="s1">like it went in that Elton John song his mum used to listen to. </span> <span class="s2"> <em>‘Never knowing who to cling to, when the rain set in...’.</em>  </span> <span class="s1">Sometimes Billy wonders if his mum would have survived Neil Hargrove if she hadn’t left. If he would have made her end up dead, one way or another. And then Billy would have been left, remembering her. </span> <em> <span class="s2">‘Your candle burned out long before your legend ever did’. </span> </em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">God, what kind of drugs did they have him on? </span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good to see your awake, Billy”, the woman says, with a kind smile. “You okay? Does anything hurt?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s about to tell her no, but his voice breaks as soon as he tries, and he breaks out in a coughing fit. She hurries over to the bedside table where a pitcher and glass stand, hidden by the vase. The coughing doesn’t last long, and once he’s finished she’s leaning in towards him and placing an arm around his shoulders, helping him up. Billy doesn’t realise how weak he feels until then. Until the man is handing her the glass of water and she’s holding it up to his lips, because Billy can’t hold it himself. His hands start trembling as soon as he lifts them up. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She lowers him down back on to his pillow and stands up. “Better?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah.” He hates how weak his voice sounds. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you know why you’re? Do you remember what happened?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, I- No.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She nods. “You’ve been more or less asleep for the last twenty days. You were brought in on the night between the 4th and 5th of July. A creature from a different dimension had taken over your mind and was controlling you, but you managed to break free, with a little help from Jane Hopper, I believe, and kill it. Because it was still inside you when you stood up against it, it technically killed itself as it tried to kill you.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">And fuck, Billy does remember now. Remembers running away from Steve, </span> <span class="s2"><em>‘If I loved you less I might be able to talk about it more’</em>,</span> <span class="s1"> remembers crashing the Camaro and being </span> <em> <span class="s2">taken</span> </em> <span class="s1">, remembers those days leading up to leaning over a little girl as she went into his mind and found him, </span> <em> <span class="s2">telling him to fight</span> </em> <span class="s1">, his mum telling him to go, telling him she loves him. He remembers the pain.</span></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Y-Yeah, I remember now, </span> <em> <span class="s2">shit</span> </em> <span class="s1">, what the fuck kind of thing </span> <em> <span class="s2">was that</span> </em> <span class="s1"><em>?</em> Jane, she... she - </span> <em> <span class="s2">What</span> </em> <span class="s1"><em>...?</em>” </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">And the man, he sits down in the chair by Billy’s bedside, and he tells him about horrible scientists and a little girl with powers, an alternate dimension with monsters, and dead teenage girls and kidnapped little boys, and now Russians of all things. And Steve, and Max and all her little friends, and the whole Byers family and Nancy and the </span> <em> <span class="s2">goddamn Chief of Police </span> </em> <span class="s1">and some weird paranoid private investigator </span> <em> <span class="s2">all knew about it</span> </em> <span class="s1"><em>.</em> That’s what they were doing last fall when Billy came to get Max.</span></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Billy thought nothing ever happened in a tiny little small town like Hawkins, located in Nowhere, Indiana. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s speechless for a good few minutes afterwards, but then his gaze falls on the woman, who’s been leaning back against the wall the entire time the man’s been speaking. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So you’re Dr. Owens, the ‘Good Scientist’ or ‘Doctor’ or whatever”, he says, nodding towards the man. “But then who the fuck are you?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She smiles, a lopsided almost-smirk, and somehow Billy knows he’s going to like her. “I’m also Dr. Owens, actually.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">The... </span> <em> <span class="s2">male</span> </em> <span class="s1"> Dr. Owens smiles at her before turning to Billy. “She’s my daughter.” </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m Russian. But nothing like those working in that lab. My biological parents died when I was really young, and dad - Sam - adopted me. I was raised here in the US. But I speak Russian. He didn’t want me to lose it, and it’s come in handy over the years. I’m also the one who’s an actual medical doctor, and your primary doctor during this whole ordeal. My father’s going to be dealing with other stuff, so I’m the one you’ll be seeing most off. But he’s been dealing with the Upside Down business here for longer than I have, so we wanted to both be here when you woke up. Anyway, my name’s Tatiana Owens. But you don’t have to call me Dr. Owens if it’s confusing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sam Owens leans closer to Billy, holds up his hand as though he’s telling a secret and says in a mock whisper: “You should feel honoured, usually she insists on ‘Dr. Owens’ even if we’re with people who know us both.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tatiana Owens rolls her eyes, having clearly heard him, but doesn’t say anything to correct him. “Do you have any questions?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My dad, and Susan, do they know? Or what should I tell them if they ask?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They, and the rest of the public, as well as the people at this hospital - you’re only going to have people who work for us taking care of you - have all been told a cover story. The others have already signed some papers about it and you will too once you’re a little better. The kids and teens were all hanging out at the mall after closing time because some of the teens worked there, and then you came to pick up your sister, when there was a fire and freak accident - none of you were responsible - and you managed to save Jane Hopper but got impaled by some debris doing it.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><em> <span class="s2">She’s the one who saved me</span> </em> <span class="s1"><em>.</em> Still, he’s grateful for the story, because it places him as only being there to pick up Max, not doing anything his dad could get mad at him over. </span> <em> <span class="s2">Probably Max’ doing. </span> </em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And what about all of this?” he says, gesturing over his whole body. “How long until I can leave? How fucked up am I?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re still on bed rest, and then it’s going to take you a while to get back to your full strength. You’ll probably need to meet with a physical therapist even after you’ve been released. It... It wasn’t pretty, Billy, when you came in. Most of your ribs were broken, and there was <em>so much</em> damage. I wasn’t sure you’d survive. But you did. Because you’re strong, and so I’m convinced you’re going to be okay. But you should probably thank your sister, the next time you see her. She got clothes from the stores around you, which helped keep you from bleeding out. But I understand if you’re tired now, Billy. You’ve had a lot to take in. Go back to sleep.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">— </span> <em> <span class="s2">Sweet-pea: pleasure, thank you, goodbye after pleasant visit</span> </em></p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">28 July - 3 August 1985</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Hi, Billy”, Jane says as she goes to sit in the chair by Billy’s bed. The one Steve and Max have taken turns occupying while the other one hovers around the room. Steve mostly just babbles on about anything and everything, like he needs to fill the silence, and Billy doesn’t get why he’s there. Billy ran away from him, and </span> <em> <span class="s2">he killed so many people</span> </em> <span class="s1">. Max just sits there, staring at him as though she’s afraid he’ll disappear if she looks away.</span></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And now Jane, or El, whatever, is here. And Billy really doesn’t want to talk to her, but fuck, he knows he needs to. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s dressed in bright colours, her hair a curly mess like Billy’s was when he’d just started growing it out. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay?” she asks, her head tilted to the side like a bird’s. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, I- I’m okay. You?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She smiles at him, brightly. She looks so innocent. So goddamn nice. Billy would never believe she’d experienced what she had, done what she had, unless he’d seen part of it first hand. “I’m okay too. Because you saved me.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“No- God, kid, </span> <em> <span class="s2">shit</span> </em> <span class="s1">... You’re the one who saved </span> <em> <span class="s2">me</span> </em> <span class="s1">.”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Saved each other”, she says, and shrugs, like it’s nothing. Maybe after all that’s happened in her life, it really is nothing. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Still, there’s been something that’s been on Billy’s mind since he woke up. “What... what you saw, with my dad-“</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">And suddenly her whole expression turns dark, and Billy actually realises that this, this little girl, she is </span> <em> <span class="s2">powerful</span> </em> <span class="s1">. “Papa </span> <em> <span class="s2">bad</span> </em> <span class="s1">.” The way she looks at him, Billy can tell she understands. Or thinks she does, anyway. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“No, no, shit, it’s not... it’s not </span> <em> <span class="s2">like that</span> </em> <span class="s1">. It’s not like it was with your... papa.”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He scares you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Only... only sometimes. But everyone’s parents scare them sometimes! Everyone is afraid to make their parents angry or disappointed.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He hurts you.” She’s staring at him with those big goddamn doe eyes of hers. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I... Listen, Jane, it’s fine. It’s okay. I’m okay. I promise.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Promise?” And she’s laying her head in the side again, looking imploringly at him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes!” Billy says, probably too quickly. “I promise, Jane. And I need you to not say anything to anyone else. Okay? I can’t have them believing my dad is like your papa. Listen, I’ll do anything you want. I’ll... do you know how to swim?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She shakes her head, and Billy counts it as a victory.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll teach you. Steve has a pool, we can practise there, and then next summer you can go with the others and swim. How about that? I just need you to promise not to tell anyone what you saw in my head. It’s private. Okay?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">She’s nodding, slowly</span> <span class="s1">, like she’s not certain she’s agreeing to the right thing. “Promise. Friends don’t lie.” </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Fuck, why does Billy feel guilty? He’s not... he’s not </span> <em> <span class="s2">lying</span> </em> <span class="s1">, not really. And it’s not like they’re friends. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But he’s got her to agree, so know he needs to change the subject quickly before she takes any more time to think on it. “I heard you’ve been practicing reading. Any good books?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And she shines up like he’s asked her something extraordinary. “Max showed me her comics. Diana Prince is amazing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wonder Woman, huh? Yeah, that sounds about right for you two.” He lets her go on and talk about whatever happened in the latest issue she’d read, and it’s nice just to listen to someone being happy and passionate about something. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Then Jane falls quiet and tilts her head again. “How do you... how do you be in a relationship?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“What?” <em>The fuck is this?</em> Is she asking for relationship advice from <em>Billy Hargrove</em>, the boy who sleeps around but without ever having a real relationship? The one who ran away when Steve Harrington kissed</span> <span class="s1"> him? </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Max dumps Lucas when he’s being dumb, but I don’t want to dump Mike. Not anymore.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Then... I don’t know. Talk to him? Tell him why you want to dump him but also why you don’t really want to? Maybe? Shit, Jane, why are you asking me?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Max said-“ </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alright, <em>no!</em> Stop right there. I don’t want to know what Max said. Ask Nancy. Or Robin. Or fuck, ask Ms. Byers.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s grinning at him, goddamn seconds away from laughing, he can’t tell. But she doesn’t, she just keeps smiling and reaches down to grab a plastic bag on the floor beside her chair. Billy hadn’t even noticed it when she came in. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And still smiling, she reaches in and pulls out a teddy bear. It’s as tall as his forearm, brown and fluffy with a blue ribbon around its neck. She leans in and places it at the crook of Billy’s arm. It’s so incredibly soft. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you like him?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy’s... Billy’s pretty damn speechless. He looks from her, to the bear, and back again. “Is he... for me?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She nods. “Joyce got me one when I was sick. So I asked her to drive me to the city to buy one, and Steve gave me money so I could choose anyone I wanted for you. So do you like him?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s probably the nicest quality teddy bear Billy’s ever owned. “Yes... I do. Does he have a name?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jane tilts her head, again. She’s looking at both him and the bear with a contemplative look. Then she nods to herself, and sits up straighter. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Survivor.” She doesn’t let Billy react before she’s turning to look at the flowers on his bedside table. “Steve told me those flowers grow in the wild in Italy. His grandma’s Italian. He said he’s always liked what they meant. ‘Goodbye after pleasant visit.’ That’s what he felt like every time he visited and had to leave.” She goes to stand up, opens the door, the plastic bag now empty at her side. “Goodbye, Billy.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">— </span> <em> <span class="s2">Rosemary: remembrance </span> </em></p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">4-10 August 1985</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Robin Buckley sits in the chair today. Or, ‘sits’, probably isn’t the right word to describe what she’s doing. She’s leaning back in the chair, arms crossed, hugging herself, her feet up on the bedside table. Inches from the vase of rosemary.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You know, Hargrove, at first I wasn’t sure if I should come. Because, like, we’re not friends, are we? I doubt you even knew I existed before last month.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy’s not had a good week. He hasn’t said anything to Steve and Max, and has barely spoken to Dr. Tatiana. All he can do is remember. It’s like he’s reliving those days when the thing took him and had him bring it people. It’s like a horrible movie being rewinded again and again and nothing Billy does can stop it. Still, he musters up the willpower to speak, now. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I knew you existed. Steve talked about you a lot. And you were the only one with any reasonable answers in Lit class.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Robin smiles, a small little turning up of the corners of her mouth. Then she’s pursing her lips, nodding. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He’s worried about you, you know. Says you haven’t said a word to him for like, a week. All he’s been waiting for is for you to wake up, to hear your voice again, and now you still won’t say anything.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">All Billy wants to say is that he honestly can’t figure out why the fuck Steve is still there, why he still comes by almost every day. But he doesn’t really feel like saying it, doesn’t want know what her reaction would be. Billy feels so fucking guilty every time Steve looks at him with those sad puppy dog eyes, but he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s supposed to say to him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And Steve told me he’s bisexual”, Robin continues. “I’m a lesbian. And at first I thought you might be bi too, but that doesn’t seem entirely right, now does it?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He doesn’t answer her, which he guesses is answer enough. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Anyway, you’ve got nothing to worry about in that aspect, nothing you need to hide.”She leans over, nods towards his face. “Come on, Hargrove, what’s going on in that head of yours? I mean, I’m probably the best person you have to confide in. I’m not your doctor, and I’m not really your friend, so I’m not someone you need to care about not worrying, but I know about this whole mess, so if you need to talk, I’m here.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Billy stays silent for a couple more minutes, but then he sees Heather’s parents faces flash before his eyes, and squeezes them shut with a sigh. “I just- I keep seeing them. All those people I killed.” He hates how pitiful, how small, his voice sounds. Like Billy has any right to be pitied. He’s a murderer. But he’s alive. They aren’t. “The Mindflayer, or whatever you call it, it would bring me back right before it took a new person, and I tried to help them, I tried to calm them down, but it never really worked. And then I had to stand by and watch as it consumed them. Because <em>I</em> brought them to it. There... There was this one little boy. And Heather. Fuck, she was my friend and I </span> <em> <span class="s2">murdered</span> </em> <span class="s1"> her.” </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Robin’s just staring at him, her eyes wide and disbelieving. “Shit, Billy. Please don’t fucking tell me you actually believe all that? You’re not a goddamn murderer. It wasn’t your fucking fault.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“You don’t fucking get it! </span> <em> <span class="s2">I’m</span> </em> <span class="s1"> the one who did it! </span> <em> <span class="s2">My hands</span> </em> <span class="s1"> brought them there. My body!” </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She sits up straighter. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t your fucking mind, now was it?! I know you were kind of an asshole in school, but shit, I thought Steve was an asshole as well, and I know that you’re not a fucking murderer!” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I killed Heather! She was just trying to help me and I took her to that fucking monster!” The heart monitor is starting to increase its beeping, but neither one of them seem to give a crap. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Robin moves so she’s sitting with her feet on the floor, and leans forward with her hands on her knees. “</span> <em> <span class="s2">You didn’t fucking kill anyone!</span> </em> <span class="s1"> You weren’t in control! And I can see that you feel guilty, but god, Billy, it wasn’t your fault. It’s not like you were planning on being taken over by an inter dimensional monster. It’s not like you fucking knew what has happening either.” </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Billy falls silent, stares straight up into the ceiling. He’s pretty sure he can feel a tear make its way from his eye and down the side of his face. His voice is quiet, when he speaks next.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sometimes I think you should have just let me die on that mall floor. There would have been more justice in that.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Robin’s face is like stone when she looks at him, her voice unwavering and final. “There wouldn’t have been <em>any</em> justice</span> <span class="s1"> in that.” </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">— </span> <em> <span class="s2">Lavender: devotion</span> </em></p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">11-17 August 1985</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Did you know that Lavender flowers are supposed to be really calming and relaxing?” Steve says, about a week after Robin was there. He’s sitting in the chair, with Survivor in his lap, playing with the bear’s arms.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy slowly turns his head to look at the vase. “Yeah?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mhm.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He lets his gaze glide back to Steve’s face. “How do you know so much about flowers, anyway?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve smiles. “My nonna. She taught me a lot when I was younger. Mum would let me spend my whole summer with her while they were working. I was too young to stay home alone.” He sighs, and the smile falls off his face. “And then I was too young to buy my own plane ticket. I miss her.” He reaches out and places Survivor on Billy’s arm, close to his shoulder. Then he leans back and looks at him with a searching look in his eyes. “Tatiana told me you haven’t been sleeping.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Billy feels a sudden surge of anger. It’s similar to the way he used to feel, when Max did something that annoyed him or that he knew he’d get shit for, or when something reminded him of Neil. But this time it’s a little milder, because Steve’s right. Most nights Billy’s had nightmares, filled with twisted memories, and woken up to Tatiana stroking his hair. “You keeping tabs on me? You’re not my goddamn keeper. And why the fuck is she telling you, anyway?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Your parents never visit. And Max is too young.” He gives him a small, gentle smile. “She knows what I am to you.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, she does, huh? Well, go on and enlighten me, Stevie. What are you to me? Because I don’t fucking know.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Steve looks like he’s been slapped, and shit does Billy feel ashamed. But he just </span> <em><span class="s2">doesn’t</span> </em> <span class="s2"> <em>fucking get it</em> </span> <span class="s1">. And he’s tired of feeling guilty when Steve looks at him. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’re... we’re in a relationship. I think. I thought you... I thought you knew. I thought you wanted to be. We’ve... we we’re hanging out so much before, and then we kissed-“ </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“</span> <span class="s2"><em>‘Before’</em>.</span> <span class="s1"> I haven’t touched you in weeks, Steve! I barely talk, I don’t sleep, I can’t eat, everything hurts </span> <em> <span class="s2">all the time</span> </em> <span class="s1">, and I haven’t fucking done anything with you! We’ve kissed, </span> <em> <span class="s2">one time</span> </em> <span class="s1"><em>.</em> And I ran away after that! We haven’t even fucked, Steve!”</span></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We don’t fucking need to! I- I <em>love</em> you, you stupid asshole! I don’t need anything... anything sexual from you. I just want to love you. I care about you. Max cares about you. And Tatiana cares about you. She’s worried.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Max’ my sister and I still don’t know why she cares. Tatiana’s my goddamn Doctor; it’s her job to actually give two shits about me.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Yeah, well at least she does ‘give two shits’ about you. At least she told me. And she fucking choose to be your doctor. Because she wanted to save you. And I’m fucking glad she did, because I love you, and if she hadn’t then maybe I wouldn’t be able to sit here and fucking argue with you, because you would be </span> <em> <span class="s2">dead</span> </em> <span class="s1">, and I would be crying on your grave. So shut the fuck up and don’t try to change what I think, because I won’t stop fucking loving you so you’re just going to have to deal with it!”</span></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What if I don’t love you, Steve? What if I don’t want to deal with your goddamn concern?!” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve just looks at him, shakes his head, and stands up and leaves.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Billy lets out a frustrated groan, clutches Survivor to his chest, and cries himself to sleep. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">— </span> <em> <span class="s2">Zinnia: never forget absent friends </span> </em></p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">18-24 August 1985</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s a Monday morning when Tatiana steps into his room with a big box clad in blue wrapping paper. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ve been asked to give you this”, is all she says with a twinkle in her eyes as she places the box in Billy’s lap and leaves.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy spends a couple of seconds just staring at it, half expecting it to pop open and for something to shoot out and hit him. He can’t figure out who the fuck would send him a gift. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s not like he’ll find out unless he opens it, and he actually trusts Tatiana not to give him something that would harm him, even if he does feel like he’d deserve it if she did. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy slowly unwraps the box and opens the lid. There is... a bunch of stuff in there. At the top is a card, white, with three lines written on it. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">‘Hope you feel better soon,</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">Sincerely, </span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">Two Friends’</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Billy honestly starts thinking that there must have been some mistake, that this isn’t actually for him, but then he sees a tiny plushie of a car, and attached to it are the keys to the Camaro alongside a note.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">‘Fixed her up for you.’ </span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Billy has a vague memory of Steve crashing his car into the Camaro to stop Billy from hitting Nancy and the kids. </span> <em> <span class="s1">Fuck</span> </em> <span class="s2">. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">He almost pushes the box away, because fuck, Tatiana hasn’t been certain he’ll be able to walk or run like he did before, so why would he be able to drive a </span> <em> <span class="s1">car? </span> </em> <span class="s2">And even if he recovers enough to do that, he’s not certain he’ll be able to get in the Camaro again. Too much shit happened in that car. Which sucks, because she was his </span> <em> <span class="s1">baby</span> </em> <span class="s2">. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">But there’s more stuff in the box, so Billy decides to keep going. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">There’s a walkie talkie. Like Max and the rest of the Party use. There’s a note attached to it as well. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">‘Made sure no one will be able to get in on your frequencies. Nobody can listen in on you, kid. It’s totally safe.’ </span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">There’s a small bouquet of big, colourful flowers. Billy glances over to his bedside table. The vase is still filled with lavender flowers. He reaches out for the bouquet to place it on the table when he notices a note put on a string around their stalks. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">‘Zinnia - Never Forget Absent Friends’</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">Which goddamn friends are these? </span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">There are books there as well. </span> <em> <span class="s1">The Sword of Shannara</span> </em> <span class="s2"> by Terry Brooks, </span> <em> <span class="s1">The Polar Express </span> </em> <span class="s2">by Chris Van Allsburg and</span> <em> <span class="s1"> The Price of Salt</span> </em> <span class="s2"> by Patricia Highsmith. And underneath the novels lies another little book, partly lined paper and partly sketch paper, with five quality drawing pencils. Billy used to love to draw when he was little, and no matter how shitty they turned out his mum would hang his drawings up on the fridge. He stopped drawing once she left. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><em> <span class="s1">‘In case you get bored’ </span> </em> <span class="s2">says the note on the little book pile. Billy can’t help but smile. But then his gaze falls on the bottom of the box. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">There’s a box of condoms in there. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">‘For you to use once you recover. Safety first, kid. (; ‘</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Billy’s mortified. He can feel his cheeks heating up. This is probably the most embarrassed he’s felt in a long while. Christ. Who the fuck would send him this?</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">And then he feels sad, because Billy made Steve fuck off, and he hasn’t been back all week. Who else would Billy even use these with? Fuck. </span> <em> <span class="s2">Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck...</span> </em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Billy puts the box and wrapping paper on the chair, picks up </span> <em> <span class="s2">The Polar Express</span> </em> <span class="s1">, and starts reading. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">—</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Billy wakes up on Friday there’s a bearded man with big messy hair staring at him from the foot of his bed, and he can hear soft Russian from Tatiana and another man, this one curly haired with glasses, sitting in chairs placed against the wall.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Look who’s awake!” the bearded man exclaims. He’s grinning at Billy, and it’s a happy smile, but also one that says he feels somehow superior. It’s intimidating. Like he knows something Billy doesn’t. “Did you enjoy our gifts?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Billy pushes himself up a little straighter. “That was </span> <em> <span class="s2">you?</span> </em> <span class="s1">” </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Uh huh.” He says, nodding and still grinning. “Did you like them?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Who the fuck </span> <em> <span class="s2">are</span> </em> <span class="s1"> you?” </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He points at himself. “Murray Bauman. Private investigator and conspiracy theorist.” The he points over his shoulder at the other man, who’s fallen silent and is looking at Billy. “That’s Alexei. He’s a Russian scientist who Joyce and Hopper kidnapped from his peers. And now he’s my lover.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hi!” Alexei says with a smile and wave.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy’s just staring at them in bewilderment. He’s pretty sure his mouth has fallen open, a little. Tatiana chuckles on her way out of the room. <em>Traitor.  </em></span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We would visit before, but did not know if safe for me”, Alexei says in a thick, Russian accent. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The American people aren’t big on commies”, Murray says with a sympathetic glance at Alexei, before turning back to Billy. “But Alexei wanted to check in on you. We were originally only going to send the gifts, and then you could come visit us once you got out of here, but well. Then we found out you broke it off with Steve.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How the fuck do you know that?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Murray knows everything, bitches”, Alexei says with a grin, and Murray laughs. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck yes I do.” He goes to sit down in the chair by Billy’s bed, put his elbow on his bedside and leans his cheek on his hand. “Now, why the fuck would you do make Steve leave you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s none of your goddamn business!” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Murray laughs, as though that is the stupidest thing he’s ever heard, and Alexei smiles at Billy. “We’re all family now. Don’t like when family hurts.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy shakes his head at him. “How the hell do you know so much English already?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m genius scientist. Languages easy.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah you are, darling”, Murray says before whispering to Billy: “He watches too much TV.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Back to Steve”, Alexei says and Murray snaps his fingers. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes! Back to Steve. So, Billy, what made you stupid enough to tell Steve to fuck off?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I...” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods, eyebrows raised. “Go on.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“I don’t fucking know, alright?! I couldn’t deal with his fucking concern. He looked sad and worried </span> <em> <span class="s2">all the damn time</span> </em> <span class="s1">, and it was my fucking fault!” </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alexei tilts his head, the same way Jane did when she’d come by. “Worry good”, he says. “Worry means caring.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He shouldn’t worry about me! I’m a murderer and I’m fucking broken, he deserves someone better!” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“There are so many things wrong about that statement that I don’t even know where to start,” Murray sigh and shakes his head. “Well, for one, you’re not a murderer, you’re a victim as much as those people that died. Because that monster is making you feel guilty over something you didn’t actually do, something you couldn’t fucking control. And honestly, everyone who’s been part of this whole mess is a little broken now. And you don’t get to decide what Steve deserves. He’s fully capable of figuring out what he wants by himself. And he’s acting like a goddamn lovesick idiot, and I would normally be disgusted but I can’t now, because that Russian man over there?” He points back at Alexei. “He’s turned me into a lovesick fool as well.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“</span> <em> <span class="s2">Ya tebya lyublyu.</span> </em> <span class="s1">” </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“I love you, too, Alexei”, he says with a soft smile, before turning back to Billy. “I’ve said it before and I’m going to say it again: </span> <em> <span class="s2">shared trauma</span> </em> <span class="s1"><em>.</em> Chemistry, history, and shared fucking trauma. That’s what you need. I mean, just take a look at all of these couples we’ve got here. The two of us?” he says, gesturing between himself and Alexei. “</span> <em> <span class="s2">Shared trauma</span> </em> <span class="s1">. Nancy and Jonathan? Shared trauma. Joyce and Hopper? Shared trauma. Those two fucking kids... Mike and El! Shared trauma! And you and Steve...?”</span></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“... shared trauma,” Billy says with a sigh. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Murray throws his arms up into the air and does jazz hands. “Bingo!” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He goes to stand up, takes Alexei’s hand in his and moves towards the door. “So get it together. It’s not easy to find a man who loves you. Treasure it, kid. And I’d hate for our gift to go unused.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy chokes on air, and listens to Murray’s laugh as the door closes behind him and Alexei. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">— </span> <span class="s2">Red Tulip: a declaration of love </span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">25-31 August 1985</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve is there with a bouquet of red tulips on Monday.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I see Murray and Alexei we’re here,” he says, nodding towards the zinnias as he goes to exchange them for the tulips. “They called me, you know. Friday evening. Told me they’d talked some sense into you.” He sighs, and goes to sit in the chair, hugging himself. “What is it that you actually want, Billy? Because I don’t want to force myself on you, so if you want me to leave I’ll go. I just want us to be on the same page. Why did you make me leave?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“I was just so fucking tired of seeing you so goddamn worried. I heard you and the Chief, that time before I really woke up. You spent </span> <span class="s2"><em>a</em> <em>week</em></span> <span class="s1"> in here. You don’t deserve that. You deserve someone better, someone who doesn’t make you worry so much, someone who you can be with easily. I’m stuck in here, for who knows how long, and you should be out there enjoying your fucking life. You should be partying, and fucking, and flirting, and hanging out with friends. You shouldn’t be spending your whole summer here with me. I don’t fucking deserve you, Steve!”</span></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">And Billy can see a smile pulling on Steve’s lips, can see him struggling not to laugh, but he fucking fails at it and suddenly he’s sitting there laughing at Billy. “You’re making this way more complicated than it needs to be, Hargrove, oh my </span> <em> <span class="s2">god</span> </em> <span class="s1">. I love you. It’s as simple as that. I’m eighteen years old, I can decide how I want to spend my summers. And as it so happens, I don’t want to go out and party, or fuck, or flirt. I want to spend my time with you, because I love you, and yes, I am worried about you, just like you’re worried about me right now. That’s what happens when you care about another person.”</span></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry”, Billy says, because fuck, maybe Steve’s right. Maybe it is that simple. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve smiles at him, softly. “I know. But why did you run away? That first time in the car when we... when we kissed. I’ve been wondering about that.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy sighs, looks down at his lap. “I was... scared. This... this is a small town, Steve. It’s not like California. And I was found out even there. It didn’t end well. And I didn’t want to risk it. I didn’t want you getting hurt, and I didn’t want to risk falling in love with you, because I knew I was about to.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So are you? In love with me?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods, just a small movement. “I am.” It’s no more than a whisper. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And do you want a relationship?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I do, but Steve, it will be hard. And you’ve only dated women before. It- It won’t be like that. It can’t. We can’t be open. I - can you deal with that?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Steve leans back, frowning. “I know I can’t... take you to prom, or hold your hand, or kiss you in public. I know it’ll be hard. But... <em>life is hard</em>. Everything we’ve dealt with has been hard. We’ve survived all that. And you’re asking me if I’m up to working for, </span> <em> <span class="s2">fighting for</span> </em> <span class="s1">, something that will bring me more joy than anything else? Of course I am. Look at Murray and Alexei. They’re making it work, aren’t they? And I don’t even think Alexei is here legally. He’s a gay Russian scientist who didn’t know any English, and was forced to work on opening a portal to a different dimension filled with monsters but now he’s living with the most paranoid man I’ve ever met and they’re </span> <em> <span class="s2">happy</span> </em> <span class="s1">. If they can do it, who’s to say we can’t?” He reaches out for Billy’s hand and brings it to his lips, kissing it.</span></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy nods, smiles. And then his smile is going from soft to mischievous. “They gave me condoms”, he says, as seriously as he can. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Steve leans back, wide eyed. He’s still got Billy’s hand in his. “They </span> <span class="s2"><em>didn’t</em>.</span> <span class="s1">” </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They did”, Billy says, and now he can’t keep himself from laughing. “They really did. They’re over there.” He gestures at the box. It’s sitting on the other bed in the room. He’d had Tatiana place it there after he’d taken out the books and pencils to have them close at hand on the bedside table. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Steve actually goes over to look. “<em>Oh </em></span> <em> <span class="s2">my god</span> </em> <span class="s1">”, he says once he’s opened the box and seen them there, beside the walkie talkie and keys. “Murray’s crazy.”</span></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And it just makes Billy laugh harder. Which hurts his body, but it’s been so long since he got to laugh. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, actually”, Steve says, still staring down at the box. “He is. He fucking is. And Alexei seems so goddamn innocent half the time that I forget why he was even in the US to begin with. Isn’t that fucking hilarious, though? A conspiracy theorist ends up in a gay relationship with a communist Russian scientist. It sounds like a joke. Like something that wouldn’t work in real life. But they’re perfect for each other, aren’t they?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They are,” Billy says with a grin. “Now come back here. And give me an actual kiss.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Steve closes the lid and bounds over to Billy. It’s a little awkward, because Steve has to lean over him and Billy’s still got the nasal cannula and a bunch of other medical shit attached to him, but they make it work. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck, Billy. I’ve missed your lips. I never want to stop doing that.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I never want you to stop, so maybe we’re perfect for each other as well.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Maybe we are.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">— </span> <em> <span class="s2">Edelweiss: courage, devotion </span> </em></p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">1-7 September 1985</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy has been walking. A little bit. To the bathroom and back. Has done some physical therapy. But no long walks.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Now he’s got Max on one side, and Steve on the other, each one holding on to one of his arms as they help him get off his bed and standing up. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His knees buckle as soon as his feet hit the floor, but Max and Steve won’t let him fall. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Whoa! Alright, up, we’ve got you”, Steve says, and pulls him up so he’s standing. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“This is exactly what I was afraid of”, Billy says with a sigh. He hates how fucking weak he is. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re not going to get better unless you try. You need to practice, and you’re going to fail, but we’ll be here to catch you when you stumble”, Max says. “Come on. Down the corridor and back.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tatiana waits for them by the door, holding it open so they can pass through. The corridor outside Billy’s room is pretty much empty. They wanted him to have privacy, and they needed to keep him away from the actual hospital workers. Tatiana had told him that they’d taken him to the hospital in a helicopter, Steve riding with him, and then they’d just swooped in and taken over a small part of the building. Tatiana had been waiting there, in charge of explaining to the one’s in charge what was about to happen, having them sign papers that sworn them to secrecy. No media, no talking to family, no actually letting their employees know, no nothing. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s sweating by the time they’ve made it to the end of the corridor and turned around to go back. He fucking hates how proud he is that he didn’t almost-fall once.He shouldn’t be proud of that. He’s not a baby that’s just learning to walk. He’s a fucking athletic seventeen year old. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But Billy was scared. He was really scared to try walking, because he knew he’d fall that first time. But he also knows he needs to get better. There’s no way Neil will let him spend his whole life sitting or lying down. And Billy wants to be able to run again, to drive a car, to swim. Shit, he wants to go to California with Steve and teach him how to surf. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So Billy bites his lip, and he breathes through the pain and fear, and he walks, knowing that his little sister and boyfriend are right there if he needs them. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">— </span> <em> <span class="s2">Chrysanthemum: honesty </span> </em></p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">8-14 September 1985</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve’s working in the afternoons. He spends most of his mornings with Billy, and then he goes to eat lunch and to go to work. Sometimes he’s back in the evenings as well.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So really, Billy should probably have figured out that someone would start to question why the fuck he’s with Billy all the time. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you and Steve dating?” Nancy asks, one afternoon when Steve’s gone of to work and Billy’s alone. She looks like a doll, all curly bouncy hair and pretty dress, but Billy has heard Max talk about her. He knows she could probably kill him if she wanted to. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Billy doesn’t know what the fuck he’s supposed to answer. He talked to Steve about how they couldn’t be open, but this is Nancy, and she’s Steve’s friend but she’s also his ex-girlfriend. He supposed his expression must communicate </span> <em> <span class="s2">something</span> </em> <span class="s1"> to her, because she sighs and sits down. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I have no problem with any of you dating any guys, Billy. I don’t care about that. I just care about Steve. I don’t know you enough to... have an opinion on you. I just know that you hit Steve’s face with a plate last autumn, and I need to know the two of you are good now. I need to know that this is... something real. Because I really hurt him when I started dating Jonathan, and I’m lucky he decided he still wanted to be friends with me because he’s a good guy, so I need to know he won’t be hurt again. Okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not going to hurt him.” Billy almost wants to feel defensive, but fuck, Nancy isn’t wrong. And she might have hurt Steve emotionally, but Billy actually beat the shit out of him. It’s something he still can’t stop feeling guilty about. “I love him. And I... I’m lucky that he loves me too.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Nancy smiles. She looks relieved, and she reaches out and squeezes Billy’s hand, before letting go and leaning back again, her back straight. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Neither one says anything for so long that Billy starts expecting Nancy to leave any second. But then she bites her lip and takes in a deep breath. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My mum told me about the two of you”, she says, her face serious and almost thoughtful. “That she flirted with you.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy sighs. He never expected Karen to say something, especially since nothing actually happened between them. “Wheeler, I-“ </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“I’m sorry,” Nancy says, and she looks </span> <span class="s2">so sad</span> <span class="s1"> and Billy doesn’t get </span> <em> <span class="s2">why</span> </em> <span class="s1">. “I’m sorry she did that to you. The- the men at the paper, where I was an intern, they flirted with me. They’re my mum’s age. And you’re mine. It was weird. It made me uncomfortable. Angry. Disgusted. ... Scared. So I’m sorry. I told her about them. And I told her she was just like them if she continued. I think she understood. I can ask her to come here and apologise, if you’d like?”</span></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy’s shocked. He doesn’t know what to say, at first. He’s seen older men flirt with girls his age, had even punched a few back in Cali, but he’s never thought of those women that flirted with him as the same thing. But Nancy has obviously drawn a connection to it. “No... No, that’s not necessary. I’m fine, Wheeler. It’s okay.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nancy gives him a sympathetic smile, but Billy doesn’t get the feeling she’s pitying him. “It’s really not, but alright. I understand if you don’t want to see her.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She goes to stand up, grabs her purse, smells the fresh flowers in the vase, and stops in the doorway, turning back to look at him. “And Billy? You can call me Nancy. We’ve all been through too much together. I think we’re all on first name basis by now.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And then she’s gone. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">— </span> <em> <span class="s2">Verbena: healing, protection against harm and evil</span> </em></p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">15-24 September 1985 </span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tatiana keeps telling Billy it’s going to get better. She comes in to his room, takes him to his physical therapist, checks his wounds and changes the dressings, takes tests, strokes his hair when he wakes up screaming, looks at him with sad eyes every time he avoids looking at the scars on his upper body and palms, and then she tells him it’s going to get better.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Billy can’t fucking deal with it. It feels like he’s constantly balancing on an edge, not knowing what’s on the other side but knowing it’s dark, and being told to jump or do a little twirl. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Especially now. Because his dad is here. Billy’s been in the hospital for two months and almost three fucking weeks, and this is the first time his dad has visited. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">He’d woken up from a nap - </span> <em> <span class="s2">Billy never used to take naps before </span> </em> <span class="s1">- only to hear Neil’s voice and now he’s fucking pretending to still be asleep.</span></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How long until he can come home?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not that long. He’s getting much better quicker then I ever dared to hope. We weren’t sure if he’d survive. But your son is a fighter.” Billy can’t see his dad’s face, but he knows that unless Tatiana’s looking at him he’s probably rolling his eyes. “A few weeks, at most.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It probably says a lot that Billy dreads going back home. That these weeks in the fucking hospital are the safest he’s felt in years. It’s fucking sad, because Billy doesn’t like the hospital in general, he’s almost goddamn scared of it. And still. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You know, we haven’t received any hospital bill, yet. How much are we expected to pay?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s all taken care of.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That doesn’t sound... right?” Shit, he’s starting to sound suspicious. Billy fucking hopes his heart won’t start speeding up like it usually does when Neil starts acting threatening. He doesn’t want to imagine what his dad’s reaction will be to that. Perhaps glee, knowing that he scares Billy. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The accident that landed your son here was a tragedy and a failure of the company in the mall. They’re paying us.” That’s total bullshit, but Christ, Billy’s thankful that Tatiana is there to bullshit Neil. She’s probably wearing that cool, serious face he’d seen her pull that one time Susan came to drop Max off and gave Billy a tiny little wave on her way out. Susan had looked fucking sad, seeing him there. Billy hadn’t been able to muster up enough willpower to care. And he’s never been able to put on that cold facade that Tatiana seems to be an expert in. His feelings usually manifest themselves in anger, although his mum always used to say he couldn’t keep his eyes from showing how sad he was. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I see. Well, we do want him back home soon. I was actually hoping to come and get him this Friday. The girls are worried and missing him. But my wife and I, you understand, we don’t have the time to come and visit. And I’m sure he can recover at home. After all, he’s supposed to be starting his senior year next week.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Shit. Billy’s totally forgotten about that. Hasn’t connected </span> <em> <span class="s2">September</span> </em> <span class="s1"> and </span> <em> <span class="s2">school</span> </em> <span class="s1"> and </span> <em> <span class="s2">senior year</span> </em> <span class="s1">. Fuck. He can’t go back to school like this. But he needs to go to school, because how else is he supposed to graduate? How else is he supposed to get away from Neil? This was supposed to be <em>his goddamn year</em>. He was supposed to be looking for colleges, or jobs, or apartments. Supposed to go to parties and get drunk and fuck around. Maybe even only fuck around with Steve. Not being stuck in shitty Hawkins re-learning how to </span> <em> <span class="s2">walk</span> </em> <span class="s1"> and </span> <em> <span class="s2">run</span> </em> <span class="s1">. He’s going to need to get a new goddamn wardrobe. He can’t show of his chest anymore. There’s nothing </span> <em> <span class="s2">to</span> </em> <span class="s1"> show off. And he’s going to have to quit basketball. </span> <em> <span class="s2">Fuck</span> </em> <span class="s1">.</span></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“With all respect, Mr. Hargrove, your son is not yet fit to leave”, Tatiana says, and there’s a dangerous edge to the tone of her voice. Her words are all perfectly respectful, but Billy’s certain both he and his dad can tell she’s ready to go to war over this. “To be quite frank, I’m not even certain he’s going to be able to go back to school this term. He’s most likely going to still need physical therapy and we’re sending pain medication and a crutch with him, when he does eventually leave. Which will be in a few weeks. I am responsible for your son’s health, and I am not releasing him until I deem him fit enough.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alright then, Dr. Owens. I hope you’ll still be able to understand a father’s concern and ability to miss his child.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, but unless he wants said child to be unhealthy, he’s going to have to listen to his Doctor’s recommendations.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’re silent after that, but it’s a loaded, heavy silence. Billy wishes he could open his eyes and sneak a look at them, but it’s all he can do to keep his breathing regular. And he can’t risk Neil looking at him if he were to open his eyes. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is that a teddy bear?” Neil says a couple minutes later, and Billy can hear the judgment in his voice. His gaze must have landed on Survivor. The bear’s sitting on the bedside table, resting against the vase of flowers. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">Please, please, Tatiana, don’t say anything he’s not going to like...</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Oh, that one!” Tatiana says, her voice way more cheerful than it was a few minutes back. “Jane Hopper, the girl Billy saved, she was here a couple of days ago.It’s hers. She must have forgotten it. I should call back and let the Chief know it’s here in case she’s been looking for it.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">Thank you. </span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">— </span> <span class="s1">Lily-of-the-valley: purity, happiness, luck, humility</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">22-28 September 1985 </span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">As soon as the door opens, his room is filled with chatter. There are seven, </span> <em> <span class="s1">seven</span> </em> <span class="s2">, fucking </span> <em> <span class="s1">children</span> </em> <span class="s2"> in his room. Or, well, almost all of them are like, fourteen, so teens and pre-teens might be more accurate.</span></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Max is leading all of them, like a small parade in through the door, and then they’re all grabbing chairs and somebody brought a goddamn </span> <em> <span class="s2">folding table</span> </em> <span class="s1"> and they somehow managed to smuggle in candy, and they’re getting out a board game and they won’t stop talking but they’re also completely ignoring Billy staring at them. Which is fine, except </span> <em> <span class="s2">what the Hell, Maxine? </span> </em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He pushes himself up on his elbows and says as much. “The fuck?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And they all stop what they’re doing to turn around and stare back at him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Will, the first person to have the Mindflayer in his head, has got a fucking wizard hat on, and he’s already sitting down, Lucas at his side, frozen with pieces of the game in his hands. Mike and Jane are holding hands, so Billy guesses she must have figured out what to do with him at least. Max is putting away her skateboard by the far wall, and the kid that Steve is halfway to adopting has a chair in one arm and a bag of chocolate in the other. And then there’s an unknown younger girl lying plopped down on her stomach on the unoccupied bed beside Billy’s. She’s the only one who hasn’t looked up to stare at him, still focused on the book she’s reading. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s staring at her in bewilderment, and shakes his head just to make sure she’s actually there and he hasn’t started hallucinating on top of everything else. “Who the fuck are you?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Erica, bitch”, she says without looking up, and gives him the finger. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Billy sighs, can’t help but laugh a little, and lies back down. “Alright then”, he says with a small shake of his head. He remembers Dr. Owens and Tatiana mentioning her. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The kids seem to take that as their cue to start chattering again, and Billy doesn’t say anything. Not until Jane moves away from the group and goes up to Billy. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’re playing DnD. The others wanted to play after school, but Max didn’t want to leave you alone today, so we decided to have our session here.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, and El likes you for some weird reason!” Dustin shouts back. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Billy’s nice!” El shouts back and Dustin holds up his hands in an <em>‘</em></span> <em> <span class="s2">I surrender</span> </em> <span class="s1"><em>’</em> gesture. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Nobody’s ever called Billy nice. He doesn’t know what to do with the information that this girl, who’s been in his mind, thinks of him as </span> <em> <span class="s2">nice</span> </em> <span class="s1">. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jane turns back to him with a smile. “We’re about to start. Do you want to join?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy can’t help but smile back. “No, I don’t think so. I don’t know the rules. And I... I don’t feel good today.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jane nods, and goes back to join the others. And Billy’s content to just sit there and watch them. He’d woken up that morning after a nightmare, and he’s been hurting extra bad for some reason, feeling nauseous every time he stands up. Every time he starts thinking about his dad, and the fact that he should be in class now. Nancy and Robin are at school, starting their senior year, and Steve’s already graduated and Billy’s here having a shitty day. He’d actually fucking cried, earlier. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But there’s something nice with just lying there and watching Max and her friends have fun together. It’s so innocent. And hopeful. Because these kids have been through as much shit as Billy has, and they’re still here, laughing and playing games together. It makes him feel like maybe there’s hope for him too. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">— </span> <em> <span class="s2">Purple Hyacinth: ‘please forgive me’</span> </em></p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">29 September - 5 October 1985</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“New flowers?” Max says when she comes to visit him on Monday after school.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy smiles. He’s feeling... looser, today. More tired, but also calmer. He’d started sketchingthe hyacinths in the little notebook he’d gotten from Murray and Alexei, and he’s pretty happy with the result. Not too bad for not having been drawing in years. And Tatiana had wanted to try some new pain meds, so there’s that as well. “Yeah. Steve. I don’t know when he comes and exchanges them. I’m always sleeping. I don’t even know where he gets them from. I don’t think all of these are even supposed to be in bloom.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Max frowns a little, but she’s not looking irritated, only thoughtful. “How did you... how did that happen? You and Steve?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Steve kissed me. That week before... before the 4th of July. And I... I ran away”, Bulky says with a sigh. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Why?” She looks so confused, and almost a little judgmental. </span> <em> <span class="s2">‘Why the fuck would you do something so stupid, Billy?’</span> </em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Because I remembered that we were in Hawkins. I remembered that this is a small town. And I remembered what happened in California. I didn’t want to risk falling in love with him.” He sighs, again. “Not that that worked out. Nothing there worked out. Karen... Karen Wheeler, she... she had spent all June flirting with me, and I... I wanted a distraction, so I was going to go and meet her at a motel. I don’t think I realised how... how fucking wrong it was for women her age trying to get it with me until Nancy, she... she came by, and she apologised for her mum. And I think it clicked then. It </span> <em> <span class="s2">finally</span> </em> <span class="s1"> did. I’ve never... I’ve never gotten a real apology from any of those women. Never. But Nancy... she was sorry for what her mum did. Tried to do.” He shakes his head, trying to clear his mind. “Anyway, I was driving to meet up with her when I... I hit something with my car. And then that thing took me. So it didn’t really work out in my favour, not staying with Steve, now did it?” He laughs, but even Billy can hear it’s a broken sound. Max’ expression says as much.</span></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry, Billy. I’m so sorry.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He can’t help but frown. “What are you sorry for?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Back in California”, Max says, and her voice is small. “That I told mum what I saw. I’m sorry. I didn’t know she’d tell Neil. I was just afraid.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And shit, they’ve never talked about this before, and Billy can feel some of his old anger from that time start to surface. “The fuck were you afraid of?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“AIDS”, she says in a whisper. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Billy can’t help but throw back his head with a snort of laughter. “</span> <em> <span class="s2">AIDS</span> </em> <span class="s1">. Goddamn it, Maxine. </span> <em> <span class="s2">So were we</span> </em> <span class="s1">. In the beginning, before we figured it out. Before we started looking for information.” He sighs. “We would just kiss. But condoms... they help. Blood is... that’s the dangerous part.” It feels really fucking weird to say this aloud to his little sister.</span></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know”, Max says, sheepishly. “I... I started reading.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“You did?” </span> <em> <span class="s2">When the fuck did you...? </span> </em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah. But it was too late by then. The damage was already done.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah. It was.” Billy nods. “But... I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about it. I... I didn’t think you cared enough about me.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Neither did I”, she says with a small, teasing smile. It’s like she’s trying to figure out where their relationship stands, and Billy decides to give her this one, so he laughs. And Max smiles, before her face is turning all serious again.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“I’m sorry about more”, she says. “We- </span> <em> <span class="s2">I</span> </em> <span class="s1">, should have told you about the Upside Down. We should’ve told you last autumn. You could have helped us. And you wouldn’t have hit Steve. You two could have gotten together earlier. But... I should have told you before, anyway. We were getting better, this spring. So I should’ve told you. Then you would have known what was happening, when it took you. And you would have known you could have come to me. You wouldn’t have had to be alone. God, Billy, I’m so sorry you were alone.” Her voice breaks, there at the end. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy’s looking at her, frowning. Trying to figure out what to say. “You should have told me”, he agrees. “But I get why you didn’t. I was an asshole, and then you thought it was over. You thought you wouldn’t have to deal with any more of that shit. You couldn’t have know it would be back. But thanks for apologising.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry I didn’t help you in the sauna. I... I wanted to. I could hear it was you, and not the... not the Mindflayer. Maybe if I had opened the door, and if we’d-“ She sounds close to crying, and Billy has to stop her because what she’s saying is wrong. He didn’t know his sister also felt guilty. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, Max. Don’t you dare apologise about that thing. You did the right thing, locking me in. Fuck, Max, it hurt, but heating it up was the right thing to do. I know I tried to talk to you, but I’m glad you didn’t listen. Because I thought that thing was gone, I couldn’t feel it, but it wasn’t, Max, and had you opened that door right then it would have killed all of you. It would have killed Jane, and Lucas, and you and then Steve. So I’m glad you didn’t do it. And I’m glad you cared enough to try to help me.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Max doesn’t say anything, she just throws herself out of the chair and onto Billy, hugging him tight and crying into his neck. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">— </span> <em> <span class="s2">Valerian: readiness, calming</span> </em></p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">6-12 October 1985</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You ready?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy nods and accepts the hand Steve’s offering him to help him stand up from the chair where he’d been sitting while putting on his shoes. He’s dressed in one of Steve’s sweaters, the same high quality as everything else he owns, and some sweatpants Susan dropped off the day before. Tatiana had give her his meds to take with her home. She’d decided to stay in Hawkins and work at the hospital. She’d come by to say her goodbyes, but now it’s only Billy, Steve and Max left in the room that was more or less Billy’s home for three months.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He clings to Steve’s arm on the way through the hospital and to the Beemer. Steve’s got the crutch Tatiana gave him in his other hand, and Max follows behind them with the box he got from Murray and Alexei, Survivor sitting on top. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The drive to Cherry Lane is quicker than Billy would like it to be, but on the other hand, it’s only midday, so Susan and Neil are still at work. This will be the first, and perhaps the only, time that Steve will get to see the inside of where he lives. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you need help to get in?” Steve asks him once he’s parked the car on the street outside. The Camaro’s there as well, and while Billy doesn’t know if he’ll be able to get back into it, he can appreciate that Murray and Alexei did a damn good job fixing her up for him. He kind of wishes he’d been here to see his dad’s face when they drove up and dropped it off. Still doesn’t know what excuse they used to explain who the fuck they were and why they’d fixed Billy’s car. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He turns back to look at Steve. “No, but... stay close.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve smiles at him. “Of course, love.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That’s a thing Steve’s started doing again. Pet names. Billy thinks he likes them. Then he catches Max making a face at them from the backseat, and gives her the finger to which she laughs as she gets out of the car. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Steve stays close by as Billy walks up and back into the house. He leads them into his bedroom. It’s looking the same as the last time he saw it, but it smells of fresh air which is a surprise. Billy was half expecting a stale smell and dust everywhere, but it looks like Susan must have been cleaning it. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He falls down on his bed and motions for Max to hand him the box and Survivor. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Alright, so, I’ll keep the keys. And the condoms. Those are normal for me to have.” He hands Steve </span> <span class="s2"><em>The Polar Express</em> </span> <span class="s1">and </span> <em> <span class="s2">The Sword of Shannara</span> </em> <span class="s1">. “Put these in my bookcase.” </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">While Steve goes to do so, Billy takes out the walkie talkie and notebook and pencils and puts them all in the drawer of his nightstand. Once Steve’s back he gives him </span> <em> <span class="s2">The Price of Salt</span> </em> <span class="s1">. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll take the Highsmith book and keep it at my place.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy smiles. “Tell Robin she can borrow it if she wants.” Then he turns to Max, who’s still holding Survivor. “And you will-“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll keep Survivor in my room among my other soft animals. If they ask I’ll tell them El gave it to me.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy nods at her and she leaves, probably to put the teddy bear away. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Steve chuckles and reaches out to pull Billy to his feet. “<em>‘</em></span> <em> <span class="s2">Survivor</span> </em> <span class="s1"><em>’</em>. El’s good. You <em>are</em> a survivor, love. Come here.” </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’ve never kissed standing up. Billy has to tilt his head back a little to reach Steve’s lips. It’s... nice. He’s been wondering what their little height difference would be like if he ever got to kiss Steve.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The sound of a camera going off makes him pull back. Max stands in the doorway, grinning with a Polaroid in hand. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What the fuck, Max?” he hisses. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Calm down. I’m not going to keep it. Steve will take it”, she says and hands Steve the photograph. “You were just too goddamn cute not to document. You’ve never been cute before, Billy.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, fuck off, Maxine!” He says, but he can feel a smile pulling at his lips. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You should have seen him that first day when I picked him up. He looked like a frozen little kitten. He was plenty cute then. Especially when he got angry that I called him that.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“You called him a </span> <span class="s2"><em>kitten</em>?</span> <span class="s1">” Max looks incredulous. And seconds away from bursting out laughing. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well he looked like one!” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m standing right here.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve turns back to smile softly at him, reaching up to place a hand on Billy’s cheek and Max actually fucks of, although Billy can hear her laughing all the way to her own room. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve turns Billy back to face him and kisses him again. “Bye, love.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Billy smiles against his lips. “Bye, Stevie.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I hope you liked it! </p><p>Please comment and/or leave kudos if you want!</p><p> </p><p>Also, side note, every time I change a word right before a comma or something to italics it adds space between the word and comma/whatever. Anyone know why it keeps doing that?</p></blockquote></div></div>
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